“I’d like to rent the Hartman cottage.” The agent had glanced up at her.
“Did something happen?” Lizbeth quickly dismissed the thought.
Latex paint lingered in the air. Something about the new overstuffed floral sofas and matching curtains seemed off.
As she padded into the bedroom, a floor board sprung back. “What are you hiding?”
She stooped and ran her fingers along the hickory plank then pried it up. An old pink diary laid on the dusty underlayment.
Her heart pounded as she unsnapped the clasp and flipped to the last page. In red ink it said, “I’VE HAD ENOUGH!” Then the lights went out.
“Did you know her?” asked the sheriff.
“We met when she rented the Hartman place. I should’ve warned her.”
“What a mess.”
Have you ever gone on vacation and rented a place that gave you the creeps?
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